


Rodzina

by ellymango



Category: Ballerina | Leap! (2016)
Genre: Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-21 04:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellymango/pseuds/ellymango
Summary: Odette said she was visiting her parents. So why did she come here?





	1. A Melancholy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> You would not believe how hard it was to think of a title for this bitch
> 
> Also it's been a while since I properly wrote Félicie heh

“You’re like a little shadow, aren’t you?”

“Sorry...” Félicie tiptoed up to her, wary and scared of the graves all around them. Graveyards had always been foreign, forbidding places, not somewhere you visited on your own accord but somewhere you were dared to visit in the dead of night. “I just... thought it was pretty weird you came in here.”

“How come?”

“You... said you were visiting your parents?”

Odette smiled sadly. “I am.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in. “Oh...” 

A deep, forlorn sigh rushed through Odette, and she propped her cane slightly forward. “They’ve been... gone for quite some time now. I don’t miss them as often as I used to but some days...” Her grip tightened, and her face reflected a slight hint of pain, indicating that today was clearly one of those days.

Félicie absently slipped her hand on top of Odette’s, then realised it would be far more comfortable to hold her arm instead. “Is... this their grave?”

Odette inhaled quietly, exhaling the twinge the question caused. “It is, yes.” 

The combination of letters on the headstone in front of them made Félicie squint, and she tried to read the words into herself to no avail. She couldn’t read well in the first place, but she could at least read names and dates and such, and she couldn’t see any words she recognised on the tombstone. “Their names are... funny.”

“They weren’t French.”

Félicie’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

Odette’s eyes stayed locked on the tombstone. “They didn’t come from France.”

“Oh.” Félicie tilted her head sideways, before looking back up at Odette. “Does that mean... that you don’t come from France?”

“I don’t, no. Though... I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember. I don’t remember much from back home at all...” It pained her to barely have any memories of her homeland, of the town her parents told her she had been born in, and the fields and countryside surrounding them. Instead, her childhood memories were rooted in the grimy streets of Paris, in the small dingy flat that barely fit her family, the forlorn faces all around her of people desperate to go back home.

“Well... at least you don’t miss it, right? You don’t get homesick?” After all, Félicie could understand being homesick for the place you’d grown up in all too well. Even though her life in Paris was better than beyond her expectations, on some rainy afternoons when she had nothing to do, she yearned to be back in Brittany, where she could play in the sun, sit bell tower, run around the standing stones. But she wouldn’t _want_ to go back, not to the drudgery, the dull routine and days with no music or dancing allowed.

Quizzical blue eyes bore down on her. “Well... if you had moved here when you were small, and your parents always told you about how beautiful Brittany was, and how they longed to go back, do you think you’d miss it, even if you had very vague memories?”

“I... don’t know...” Félicie seemed at a loss for words, and she leaned against Odette, absently grasping a handful of her apron. Her memories of home weren’t vague at all; they were clear and crisp, and she could proudly call back memories from when she was three years old (or maybe she was four, but she said three to boast). And although she had happy memories of her life back then, she didn’t spend every day of the past few years trying to escape for nothing. “Do you miss it then? Even though you don’t remember it?” 

“I remember some things.” Like the rolling fields around them, the animals her family kept, the way her mother’s cooking would fill their cottage, far sweeter and more intense than how it filled their Paris apartment. 

She remembered the smell of smoke from her father’s pipe, when he could still buy his favourite tobacco, the way the shadows of the branches outside her bedroom window would scare her at night, joking with her siblings about how the wood-on-glass scraping was a beast of the night trying to get in...

Odette’s hand slipped from her students shoulder, prompting the girl to look up. “Hey, where are you going...?”

“Shopping.” It wasn’t too much of a lie. After all, she’d made it a tradition to take the long route home, through her old street, just to feel home again regardless of if she did any actual shopping or not. But she also simply wanted to get away from the cemetery, away from the memories.

Félicie scuttled up behind her, her footsteps slowing as she approached more tentatively. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re... walking weird though. Like, weirder than usual.”

Odette stopped, realising how her right hip felt much stiffer now to the point she was dragging her leg along beside her. “It tends to go like this when I stand still for too long.”  
Félicie’s silence told her she knew she was lying.

“Hey, at least you _can_ miss your parents.”

Odette stopped in her tracks and turned around to face her pupil whose eyes were fixed on the ground, her posture slumped and pensive. “Mine didn’t even want me anyway so it could be worse...?”

When Odette replied with only a furrowed stare and silence, Félicie offered an uncertain smile which quickly dissipated. “I’m sorry, that was really mean...”

“It’s fine.” She motioned with her head for the girl to walk alongside her. “Come. Supper isn’t going to buy itself.”

Félicie trotted up beside her. “So... where exactly are we going?”


	2. An Amicable Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odette takes Félicie to her old haunting grounds.

Félicie had never seen a street as busy as this one. Though then again, she’d never seen many busy streets anyway, growing up in an area as rural and isolated as she had.   
But... this place felt so different, or different to what she’d seen of Parisian market streets so far. From the faces around her to the idle chatter filling her ears, nothing about this street felt remotely Parisian, or even French. The people here didn’t look like Parisians; their clothes were different for a start, being more splashed with colour, styled differently to what she’d seen, and lacking the big bustles she was so used to seeing. The smells were different to Parisian smells, far warmer and foodier than she imagined a street could smell like. Even the idle chatter filling the air was different; no matter how hard she tried, Félicie couldn’t hear a lick of French from anywhere around her. 

She was almost expecting people to stare and gawp when she opened her mouth to speak. “Odette? Where are we?” 

“My old neighbourhood.”

Félicie’s mouth was agape and her eyes roved around to take in as much scenery as she could. From all directions she was surrounded by bustling people, animals, children, carts, and all kinds of smells and sounds. It was a sensory bombardment from all angles, yet she found herself insatiably curious.

She then realised that Odette had stopped to speak with an older couple, and she hurried back to her side, wriggling under her cane arm with a bright look on her face. Odette chirped in surprise, passing her cane to her left hand so she could rest her right on Félicie’s shoulder, still chatting to the couple. 

It took a while for Félicie to realise that Odette wasn’t speaking French.

She’d never encountered many languages other than French, the occasional Latin the Sisters used in mass and the hushed slips of Breton she heard around the nearby village, and she was sure that whatever Odette was speaking was neither. She was speaking much faster than she usually did, or at least it seemed that way. There was something so... free, and unhindered in how she spoke, something which set this language apart from her French. Hearing it seemed so... natural almost.

Curious as she was, Félicie knew better than to interrupt an adult when they were talking to someone else. She waited for Odette to finish speaking to the couple, trying to read her expression and movements for any clues to what they were saying. Were they talking about her? Sharing memories? Were they selling something? Did she know the couple well or were they just friendly strangers?

She was getting antsy and fidgety when Odette’s long conversation finally drew to a close and she bid goodbye in a way Félicie couldn’t pronounce (do-vee? Do-veh-zhe... che-ia...? Félicie had no idea what that other sound was). No sooner had they moved away did she tug on Odette’s shawl, catching her attention.

“Hey Odette?” Odette had to lean down to catch the girl’s question over the noisy street. “Who were those two people?”

“They’re... my godparents. I’ve known them since I was little.” She smirked, yet her eyes twinkled with a mix of nostalgia and bittersweet memories. “They’re like my parents now. Or... more like what I am to you.”

Félicie frowned. “Wait, I thought you had parents?”

“I meant after they passed...”

Félicie clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, wait, I’m so sorry...!” 

“It’s alright, dear.” Odette rolled her eyes affectionately, watching her mortified student from a side gaze before placing her hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a side hug. “You’re lucky I don’t take offense easily.”

Félicie rubbed her arms awkwardly, quickly trying to think of a way to change the subject. “So... if they’re like your parents then would that make them my grandparents...?”

“Well I’m sure they wouldn’t object to you calling them that.” If anything she knew they’d be beyond overjoyed at the idea of their adopted daughter having her own adopted child. After all, they’d been besides themselves with joy earlier at how their dear _Odetta_ walked with a new bounce in her wounded step, her face finally smiling once again. “Do it next time you see them, they’ll probably give you sweets. In fact... call them-”

The words which came out of Odette’s mouth were unintelligible, and Félicie couldn’t even begin to try and pronounce them. When she tried to copy her, she found the weird hard syllables slipping right past her tongue. “Bab... bab- _zh_ ia...? And... d _zh_ a-”

The pursed lips of Odette’s suppressed laughter told her that her pronunciation was probably very off, and Félicie pouted in protest. Even after an apologetic and supportive hand landed on her shoulder she still kept her bottom lip comically pushed out. “That was good for your first attempt.”

“You laughed at me!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” Odette’s hand fluttered, covering the smile on her lips. “It’s just... I remember when I was your age. Trying to say French words for the first time.” How the slurred syllables had caught on a tongue used to pronouncing hard "ch" and "j" sounds, how she’d struggled to purr her r’s from the back of her throat. And of course, people had found her attempts amusing, or endearing, much like how she found Félicie’s attempts.

The girl’s eyes widened. “You had to _learn_ French?” As if today hadn’t been full of enough surprises already.

“You did too, at some point.” 

“Yeah, but...” She remembered all the times the Sisters had tried to teach her Latin, all those hours spent half asleep in front of a chalkboard covered in words she could barely spell, having to rhyme off grammar and tense tables she didn’t understand the use of and eventually giving up all hope of learning and skipping class to play in the bell-tower. “But I didn’t really learn it? I’ve always spoke French.”

“You had to learn _how_ to speak first. And so, you learnt with French.” It was tricky to explain, she knew. But Félicie seemed to nod in understanding, even if her mouth hung slightly open in confusion.

The girl seemed to mull over something in her head, trying to process the onslaught of information she’d taken in. “Can I really call those people my grandparents? Or... what those weird words were? Are you sure they won’t mind?” After all, she barely knew them. She didn’t even know their names... 

There was a twinkle in Odette’s eyes that she hadn’t seen before, and she smiled knowingly. “They’d be thrilled. Trust me.” 

Félicie fell oddly quiet, her lips twitching in pensive thought, thinking back to the old couple. They certainly _looked_ like what she imagined grandparents to look like; they were old, with wrinkled faces and grey hair, rosy cheeks and smiles. Their expressions had brightened tenfold when Félicie popped up beside Odette, and though she hadn’t really paid much attention she thought the old woman had waved at her. The only thing she did notice was her blouse, which was white with a pretty red embroidered neckline. She _swore_ Odette had a similar one. 

“I never thought I’d ever have grandparents. I mean, they still aren’t but... you’re not my mom but I kinda see you as my mom, if you know what I mean?” 

Odette laughed softly. “I think I do.”

Félicie leaned her head against Odette’s arm. “Y’know, even though you’re basically my mom now, it feels weird calling you that.”

“And it would be weird hearing it.” She’d never been too keen on children after all, never intending on bearing her own long before the fire pushed her off the shelf for a few years. Even now she still didn’t know what had happened between her and Félicie which had made them so close. 

But she would never complain. 

“Hey, do we need much?” Félicie hid a yawn. “I’m getting tired...”

Odette’s response was delayed by a ball whizzing by dangerously close to her head, and further still by her turning to scold whichever child kicked it in the first place. “Not a lot.” Truth be told, Odette had totally forgotten about the shopping she planned on doing, and by extension, most of what she needed to buy. “Just some bread and-”

Félicie immediately perked up from her sleepy state at the idea of visiting a bakery. “Can we get baguettes this time? We haven’t had a fresh baguette in so long...”


	3. An Emotional Evening

“Had you not spent so much time in that sweet shop we could’ve been home an hour ago.” Odette set down her bags to light the nearest lamp, first having to take her time finding her box of matches. The sooner that new-fangled “electricity” business made its way up to their attic room, the better. 

“Sorry...” Félicie dumped the bag she’d been carrying on the floor, immediately having to steady it so it didn’t keel over and praying the contents at the bottom hadn’t been completely splattered. There had been only one sweet shop close by when she was growing up in Brittany, and though the few trips they were allowed were the highlights of each month, the store itself was sparsely stocked and frankly _lame_ in comparison to the one Odette had taken her to. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that a sweet shop could have _floor to ceiling_ shelves, and Félicie made a mental note to bring a little more pocket money next time she visited.

“Don’t be sorry, I did exactly the same thing many a time when I was your age.” Odette finally found her matches, and struck and lit her lamp. “You’re not that hungry, are you?” 

“Not now. I might be later though.” Félicie eyed the baguette poking out of the bag. 

“If you do, you’re not tucking into those sweets.” Admittedly, Odette didn’t feel like traipsing all the way down to the kitchens to prepare a proper meal for them both, and would likely be picking at that bread too if she felt hungry. Or just ignore her hunger and not eat anything, which was more likely. 

Félicie huffed, picking up both bags of shopping and carrying them to the corner, her mind wandering to the various questions it had accumulated throughout the day. “Hey, Odette?”

“That’s your “I’m going to ask you something personal” tone.” She eased down onto her bed, smirking over at the girl. “Yes?”

“What language were you speaking earlier?” 

“That was Parisian French. I didn’t know Breton French was so different!”

And that earned her an annoyed pout. “No like... when you were talking to that couple you said were like your parents... what language was that?” 

A glance over at Félicie’s face confirmed she was far too tired for teasing tonight. “Polish. It’s what I spoke before I learnt French.” 

_Another new word for her to remember._ Félicie hadn’t expected her morning of sneaking after Odette to end in so much learning. “Where do you come from?” _Was it rude to ask that?_ She didn’t know. 

“Po _land_ , funnily enough.” Not that that information was any use to the girl, who was regularly surprised by the existence of countries other than France. Just last week she’d been speechless when she found out _Spain_ was a place. 

“What was it like there? Was it pretty?” A lot of countries were pretty, so Félicie heard. Nobody had ever described them as being ugly, or boring, or any of the words she used to describe France sometimes. Unless she was talking to Nora, whose only comment of the country she came from was that it rained a lot.

“I told you, I don’t remember much. I was about... five or so when I moved here.” 

“Oh.” Félicie shifted, sitting on her hands to warm them. “Why did you move here? Was it because of the ballet?” She leaned in sideways, her grin giddy, hoping Odette would say that yes, she had travelled from wherever she came from to learn ballet, just like she had.

But Odette directed her gaze to the glow of the lamp, her face reflecting her inability to answer outright as her lips twitched and eyebrows furrowed. “I... I actually don’t know. I never asked.” Or rather, never understood enough but never pushed her parents to explain. Every time she tried to ask, she could tell how much it pained them to talk about it. “I know my father’s job was involved somehow. We had to move because of that.” 

Félicie tilted her head, trying to hide her growing curiosity. “What did he do?”

Odette bit her lip. “He was a soldier.”

“Did... did he die in the war?” Was _that_ rude to ask? She didn’t know. After all, she and the other orphans would often freely discuss their deceased or missing parents, usually with a strange apathy and detachment. But then again, Félicie hadn’t known her father. Odette _had._

“No, no, he was sick. Nothing to do with the war.” She reached for her bedside drawer, slipping her hand in through the gap and pulling out a small diary, and opening the front cover with the tiniest creak to reveal a photograph more wispy and fragile than feather-down. Félicie craned over, careful not to lean the mattress too far to one side but still very eager to look at the photo.

"Is that him?" 

Odette’s voice was jarringly raspy when she spoke. "Yes." 

The photograph showed him his full uniform, with his eyes ashen and sad and his colours long since faded into mouldy sepia. It was hardly the most attractive photograph of him, but it was the only one she’d kept, unwilling to display any in her old flat or keep them in her old damp drawer. 

"Oh..." Félicie studied Odette's face, trying to find any resemblance between her and the man in the photo. "You look a lot like him." 

"Thank you." Odette stared at the photo, a smile tugging her lips as she straightened out the creases with a delicate and careful touch "A lot of people have said that." 

"I just said it because that's what everyone says when they see someone's parents." Although she _could_ actually see some resemblance between them now that she looked closer, what with their long faces, wide-spaced eyes and dark hair. If she didn’t know beforehand that they were related, she easily could have guessed.

"Is that so?" 

"Yeah." Félicie's eyebrows furrowed inwards in thought and her hand slipped closer to Odette, realising her hand wasn’t there for her to hold. "I wonder... do I look more like my mom or my dad...?"

“Did nobody ever tell you anything about them then?” 

“Not really...” She sniffled sombrely. “There was only like... one person who actually met my mom, and she never really told me much. She just said my mom had red hair and that was it.” She clutched a handful of bed sheet. “But she never told me anything else. I don’t know what colour her eyes were, if she had freckles like me, if she was tall or not... and I don’t know anything about my dad at all...!”

Félicie tucked her legs up, folding her arms on top of her knees and resting her chin on top. “They’re strangers to me. I don’t know anything about them. I...” She sniffed deeply. “I don’t even know if they’re alive or not. They abandoned me and... that was it.”

“How do you know they abandoned you? They might have wanted you but died.” 

Félicie scowled, and the grip around her legs tightened. “I just know.” Maybe she’d overheard the sisters calling her “that poor, unwanted child”, or maybe Madame le Bras had told her, or maybe she just assumed that since most of the children had been abandoned, she had been too. But somehow, she knew. 

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what everyone says.” 

“But I mean it.” Odette reached over to rouse the girl from her solemn trance, stroking her back until she released the tension pent up in her shoulders and finally sighed out her troubles, looking at Odette with a tired smile.

“You know... when I think of my mom sometimes, I don’t imagine anyone with red hair or green eyes or someone who looks like me. I think of you.” Félicie fidgeted. “And I know that’s weird and all but... I don’t have anyone else to think of as my mom. I had that dream once but I’m pretty sure that really was just a dream and not a real memory. So I just think of you.” 

Odette stared down at the photograph, tracing the crinkles with her thumb. “Do you really?”

“Yeah... I know it’s silly but-”

“It’s not silly.” She squeezed the girl’s shoulder, trying to coax her closer. “Really, it’s not.” She didn’t quite know what to say, or if anything she could say would be effective. After all, mentioning that she’d never known anyone else as a mother figure would likely bleaken her mood further. 

Félicie nudged over, resting her head against Odette’s shoulder. “You think so?” 

“I do.” Odette nestled her cheek against the girl’s crown, duly noting that her red hair would need a wash tomorrow morning, and finally bringing her other arm up to ease Félicie in a tender hug. 

They stayed together for a while, cheek to crown and content in the other’s embrace before Félicie finally pulled away, her face lit up with the brightness of someone who’d just had an idea.

“Hey... do you wanna keep your dad’s picture in my music box? It’ll be like... both of our parent’s memories are together.” She trotted over to her dresser, cradling her music box in her cupped palms. “I promise I won’t break it again. Victor said he wouldn’t fix it if I break it.” 

“Well you’ll have to be extra careful with it then.” Although she knew inside the music box would be a safer, dryer place than the old diary in mildew-ridden, damp bedroom drawer. She smoothed over the photo one last time before folding it as gently as she could along its deepest crease before tucking it gently into the box. 

“I will, I promise.” Félicie knew she wasn’t the most careful when it came to her music box. But at least she’d learnt her lesson from the last time it was shattered, namely not to carry it around in public. Plus now she had a bigger incentive to keep it safe. 

She stroked the lid in thought, accidentally wiping away some of the old blue paint before passing it to Odette. “You know what? I think you should keep it.”

Odette pushed the box back to her, a stern glint in her eyes. “It’s your mother’s box.”

“Yeah but it has your dad’s picture in it now.” 

“I can take it out and put it back in my drawer. I’m not taking this box from you.”

“But I want you to keep it now. Like how you let me keep those old shoes.” Félicie took Odette’s hand and folded it over the lid, looking at her with eyes rimmed with tears yet a face lit up with a smile. “I can get my box fixed when it gets broken, and it gets broken a lot. But you can’t replace your dad’s picture. So I want you to keep it.” 

Odette slipped her hand from the lid, revealing the triskelion pattern on top. “Félicie, I can’t take this from you...”

“Well you’re not taking it, you’re just looking after it. Since I’m bad at it.” She quickly hid her hands behind her back so Odette couldn’t hand the box to her. 

“Alright.” Odette set the music box on her dresser, making sure Félicie was watching. “I’ll leave it here, okay? I promise I won’t move it.” That way she wouldn’t feel so bad having to “look after” it. 

Félicie nodded, eyes refusing to leave her old keepsake yet adamant it was the correct choice. “Okay.”

They stayed silent, both looking at the reflection of lamplight on the enamelled lid. “Would... you like to pray with me tonight?” Félicie looked at Odette curiously, her face tilting to one side like a puppy. “Well, I say a prayer before I go to bed each night, for the person I know who needs it most, or a person who’s dead so I can remember them. Shall we pray for your parents tonight?”

“Yeah...” Félicie nestled her head on Odette’s shoulder. “I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it done! This one went through so many beta's and rewrites that I could publish a fic with the scrapped scenes alone XD
> 
> Also idk about you but I imagine a kid who grew up in some isolated area of France wouldn't have the strongest grasp on European geography ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
